


Profit Yet to Come

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Inline with canon, Jealousy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-06-29 14:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Ryuichiro hasn’t been master of his own movement since Asahina seized the back of his jacket collar to drag him out of the restaurant more by force than persuasion." Asahina stakes his claim after Isaka gets carried away with Usami.





	1. Covet

Ryuichiro lands hard against the back seat of the car. He would catch himself if he could, even just to throw his hands out to slow some part of his collapse to the cool leather of the seats; but his reflexes are slowed by the cups of sake he has drunk, and he hasn’t been master of his own movement since Asahina seized the back of his jacket collar to drag him out of the restaurant more by force than persuasion. Ryuichiro has achieved nothing more than stumbling at Asahina’s side, trying and mostly failing to keep his feet moving in time with Asahina’s ground-covering stride, and when Asahina jerks open the car door and shoves Ryuichiro in he is too off-balance to do anything but fall hard enough against the seat that the impact blows all the breath from his lungs into a gust of shock.

Asahina allows Ryuichiro no time to collect himself. Ryuichiro expects him to slam the door shut and retreat to his position behind the wheel at the front, but he comes forward instead, bracing a hand at the top edge of the car to steady himself as he follows Ryuichiro into the backseat without waiting for the other to so much as catch his breath. Asahina’s knee shoves to the seat between Ryuichiro’s sprawling legs, his hand drops from the edge of the car to grasp against the headrest of the seat over which Ryuichiro’s head is weighting, and when he pulls the door shut to close them together within the back of the car it is with force enough that Ryuichiro can feel the whole of the vehicle jolt with the impact.

“Asahina,” Ryuichiro says, struggling to find coherency for anything more than shrill protest at the back of his throat. His legs are cramped, folded into awkward angles up against the back of the seatrest and out in the footspace behind the passenger seat of the car; he draws his arm down so he can shift to the side and get the space to brace his elbow at the seat so he can begin to push himself up into a position that allows for more dominance than lying flat where Asahina threw him. “What the hell do you think--” and Asahina leans in over him, closing the gap between them with such speed that Ryuichiro doesn’t have time to see the expression on his face before Asahina’s mouth is crushing to his own. It _is_ crushing, a force enough to bruise on contact and shove Ryuichiro back against the recently-won support of his arm. Ryuichiro resists for a moment, more from surprise than an actual desire to protest, but then Asahina is opening his mouth to thrust his tongue past the startled soft of Ryuichiro’s lips, and he’s still leaning in to bring the full force of his weight to bear against Ryuichiro’s resistance. Ryuichiro’s elbow slides, his balance gives way, and when he falls back to the seat it’s with Asahina on top of him, fitting the full force of his body down against Ryuichiro’s beneath him.

Ryuichiro has no attention to spare for protest for the first few minutes. Asahina’s presence is overwhelming, it demands the full of what focus the alcohol has left still in his grasp, and there is no space in which Ryuichiro might issue a question or a show of resistance. One of Asahina’s hands is still bracing him against the top edge of the car seat but the other has laid claim to the back of Ryuichiro’s neck, fingers spreading wide to hold the other steady and fix him in place against any thought of moving; and Ryuichiro can hardly speak when Asahina’s tongue is working as far into his mouth as if the other means to claim the very rasp of Ryuichiro’s breathing for himself. Ryuichiro is left pliant against the seat of the car, his body giving way with ready instinct to the demands of Asahina’s against him, and if his thoughts are fogging with the rising heat of pleasure, Asahina can hardly be surprised by his reaction. Ryuichiro is far too intoxicated to muster the resistance he ought to given their circumstances, and even if he were sober he thinks Asahina lunging at him like this would be enough to overcome all his compunctions just for the sheer selfish pleasure of giving in to such a forceful demand.

Asahina lets him free, after some span of time Ryuichiro is too distracted to properly track. It’s startling to feel the loss of the pressure against his lips, strange to have the throb of heat at his swollen mouth instead of the tension of Asahina’s lips forced against his. Ryuichiro has to think to open his eyes, and then again to bring his vision into focus, so by the time he’s looking up at Asahina the other is staring down at him, his gaze fixed and so shadowed Ryuichiro could make no attempt at reading it even if he were sober. As he is all he can do is press his lips together, and feel the flush of arousal and intoxication burning over his cheeks as he picks apart the haze of his thoughts into clarity enough to speak. He’s dizzily-distracted, his focus so scattered it’s difficult even to know where to begin voicing his confusion, until finally it’s easiest to give up and offer the most straightforward response.

“What the _fuck_ , Asahina?”

Asahina doesn’t flinch at the edge on Ryuichiro’s tone. Ryuichiro doesn’t think his lashes so much as flutter in an admission of his own shocking behavior. “I might ask the same of you, Ryuichiro-sama.” His tone is perfectly level, as flat and steady as if they are speaking of a report for one of Ryuichiro’s endless meetings, but his eyes are still shadowed to darkness that Ryuichiro can’t identify as anger or arousal or even as some overwhelming combination of the two. “What precisely were you thinking in interrupting a private dinner like that?”

Ryuichiro blinks. “Huh?” It’s difficult to determine what Asahina is speaking of; it is difficult to recall even the basic fact of their present location, much less anything that occurred before Asahina manhandled Ryuichiro into the relative privacy of the car, but Ryuichiro frowns and squints and dredges up some fragment of focus from the wreck alcohol and Asahina have made of him. “You mean Akihiko? What’s wrong with saying hi to an old friend?”

“He is not an old friend,” Asahina says. “You were hardly more than acquaintances with him. And he is one of our star authors. You should not intrude into his personal life with work concerns.”

Ryuichiro scoffs. “They weren’t _work concerns_ ,” he declares in a mockery of Asahina’s monotone voice. “I wasn’t talking about work at all. I just wanted to see who the great Usami Akihiko saw fit to spend his time with.”

“Is that so,” Asahina says. “You didn’t seem overly concerned about his partner as much as with Usami-san himself.”

Ryuichiro stares up at Asahina. The other’s gaze remains level, his tone is as flat as ever, but his jaw is tight, Ryuichiro realizes, it’s been flexing on barely-withheld strain since the door closed behind them. Asahina is usually a perfect mask of composure, however frustrated Ryuichiro may make him; he must be furious, to show such an overt sign of temper. “Are you _mad_ at me?”

Asahina’s jaw tightens so much that for a moment Ryuichiro’s skin prickles with a premonition of danger. “Do you think I ought not to be?” he says. The words are still flat but he’s biting them off at the edges, marking them into crisp lines of precision; if he were writing, Ryuichiro thinks his pen would be dragging a tear through the paper beneath it. “I come to return you to the meal you left half-finished to find you all but in the arms of another man. Is that a situation where calmness is called for, do you think?”

Ryuichiro huffs an attempt at laughter that falls uncomfortably flat at his lips. “You’re being dramatic,” he tries. “I was hardly in his arms, it was just a little flirting.”

“Indeed,” Asahina says. His hand drops from the back of the seat, his fingers brace hard at Ryuichiro’s chin to turn the other’s head up; when he leans in Ryuichiro’s lashes dip in reflexive answer, his mouth softens in expectation. Asahina is drawing closer, his lips parted and his breathing hot; and then he stops short, leaving no more than a few inches of space between his mouth and Ryuichiro’s. When he speaks Ryuichiro can feel the vibration of the sound spill heat down his throat. “Is this what I should consider just flirting, Ryuichiro-sama?”

It’s hard for Ryuichiro to clear his thoughts enough to respond, and even when he finds the words there is no way for him to voice them without a tremor at the back of his throat. “It was nothing.”

“Mm.” Asahina shifts on the seat, his shoulders flexing and his knee drawing up to press hard between Ryuichiro’s thighs. Ryuichiro’s throat tightens with the force of Asahina’s leg bracing against the strain of his cock through his slacks; his breathing spills into a whimper as his thighs open wider in reflexive invitation for Asahina over him. Those dark eyes stay fixed on his face, that jaw stays set on rigid anger. “And your arousal is irrelevant as well?”

“That’s not from Akihiko,” Ryuichiro protests. “That’s from you shoving me into the car and pushing me down to have your way with me.”

Asahina goes on gazing at Ryuichiro beneath him. “Is it?”

“Yes.” Ryuichiro lifts his hand from where it’s been lying slack across the car seat next to him. His motion is a little unsteady, his fingers showing the effect of his intoxication more clearly than he could wish, but he lands his touch against Asahina’s cheek gently enough, and from there it’s simple instinct to trail down along the line of the other’s jaw. Asahina doesn’t speak to acknowledge the contact but his lashes dip, his gaze giving way to an admission of some surrender to the persuasion of Ryuichiro’s touch. Ryuichiro follows the line of Asahina’s jaw, relishing the texture of the other’s skin and the flushed heat of his body as he urges back to fit his fingers against the strands of soft hair cut short at the back of Asahina’s head and behind his ear. “Asahina, you can’t really think I possibly want anyone but you.”

Asahina’s throat works. When he speaks again there is a rasp under the monotone, a giving way to heat that Ryuichiro can feel down the whole of his spine. “Is that an order, Ryuichiro-sama?”

“It shouldn’t have to be,” Ryuichiro protests. “Asahina.” He lifts his other hand to cradle Asahina’s head between both of his palms; Asahina’s lashes lift, the other’s attention coming to fix on Ryuichiro’s face. “I’ve been in love with you for _years_. There’s no one else I ever want to touch me but you.” He flexes his legs, bracing a foot at the car door and his other knee at the back of the passenger-side seat so he can angle his hips up and rock himself against Asahina’s thigh pinning his arousal tight against his pants. “This is your responsibility, Asahina. No one else’s.”

Asahina’s lashes shutter over his gaze before he answers. “Very well,” he says. His elbow braces against the car seat beneath them both as he reaches down to fit his other hand between them. His fingers find Ryuichiro with practiced certainty, his palm sliding down to press friction against the other’s length; Ryuichiro’s eyes roll back, his throat opens up on a moan as his body jerks reflexive response to Asahina’s touch.

“I would like reassurance.” Asahina’s voice is level once more, cool and composed as if they are doing nothing of particular interest, but his fingers are pulling against the front of Ryuichiro’s pants to ease the tension of the fastenings and give space for Ryuichiro’s arousal to thrust up from the other’s hips. His hand returns as quickly as the clothing is free, his fingers winding their way inside the opening of Ryuichiro’s pants to seek out bare skin and press his palm flush to the other. When he moves it is with businesslike force, a stroke of his wrist and flex of his fingers that Ryuichiro feels knot immediate anticipation in the ache of his balls. “Show me proof, Ryuichiro-sama.”

“Damn,” Ryuichiro groans. His leg against the back of the car seat is trembling; his other knee is pressing so hard to the back of the passenger seat that he wonders vaguely if he’s going to tear right through the fabric backing. Asahina looks perfectly composed, as if leaning over Ryuichiro in the cramped back of a car is no more than another part of his secretarial duties. “Do you actually have a jealous streak, Asahina?” Asahina’s fingers separate to slide Ryuichiro’s shaft up between his middle and ring fingers and Ryuichiro spends his breath and has to force another inhale before he can speak again. “I never would have guessed it of you.”

“Of course I do,” Asahina says. “I have desired you for a very long time, Ryuichiro-sama.” He leans forward to press his head to the curve of the other’s shoulder; his hair brushes soft at the side of Ryuichiro’s face. “The thought of you with someone else makes me wish to claim you entirely for myself.”

Asahina delivers this statement in such a calm tone that Ryuichiro wouldn’t believe the truth of the words if he hadn’t heard dozens of confessions, far more startling than this, declared with the same neutrality. It might be enough to cool someone else’s ardor, someone who didn’t know Asahina as well as Ryuichiro does; Ryuichiro feels it like fire in his blood, coursing through him to burn away the lingering force of alcohol with the heat of arousal too much for him to bear with either silence or rationality.

“You should,” he says, and catches an arm around the other’s shoulders, clinging to the support of Asahin’s body as the fingers of his other hand slide under Asahina’s collar to seek out the bare skin that is so often hidden beneath layers of sober conformity. “Take me, Asahina.” Ryuichiro spreads his legs wider to demonstrate his point, as if he might be able to draw Asahina closer with a sufficient display of wanton need. “Fuck me right here, just like this.”

Asahina groans far in the back of his throat with enough heat to satisfy even Ryuichiro’s constant aching want for more. “I would,” he says. “But if I were to take you here the way I want to you would be unfit for anything further for days after.”

Ryuichiro breathes over a laugh of more heat than amusement. “It would be worth it.”

“Not for me,” Asahina says. “I intend to give you no time to think of anyone else, Ryuichiro-sama. I will be having you every night this week.”

Ryuichiro groans in the back of his throat. His cock jerks under Asahina’s dragging touch, surging hotter at the thought of Asahina gripping at his shoulder to pin him still for the certain thrust of the other’s hips and the stroking heat of his cock working Ryuichiro’s body open around it. “Every night?”

“Yes,” Asahina says, and the certainty on his tone is promise more than distance. “Including tonight.” His fingers curl around Ryuichiro’s length, bracing to tension before he strokes up over the other with intent clear on the motion. “You will understand my haste to return us to your apartment.”

Ryuichiro does. Even with the distance between their bodies he can feel the strain of arousal in Asahina’s shoulders and the angle of his knees; he doesn’t need to look down to see the tented slacks that prove the other’s abundant desire for him. He turns his head to the side instead, pressing his cheek to Asahina’s hair as he winds his arms close around the other’s neck and breathes deep of the heat at Asahina’s body. “I do.”

Asahina gusts an exhale that Ryuichiro can feel spilling hot under the collar of his jacket. “Good,” he says, and then he speeds the motion of his hand and Ryuichiro’s attention disintegrates beneath the persuasion of Asahina’s grip working over him. His mouth comes open, his breathing rasps into audible heat as his hips jerk up to meet Asahina’s touch, but there is no space for self-consciousness any more than he is paying attention to the cramped quarters or the strain in his thighs and shoulders from his awkward position beneath Asahina’s body. Enough that his arms are around Asahina’s shoulders, and Asahina’s fingers are sliding up along the full-flushed heat of his cock, and the rush of arousal is surging up and through him to eclipse his focus and strain his breathing. Ryuichiro clings to Asahina, giving over the support of his body to the unflinching stability of Asahina over him, and when his orgasm arches into his spine and spills from his lips he is left gasping wide-eyed with the shock of it, groaning over pleasure surprising him out of silence as his cock pulses wet heat over Asahina’s grip and against the weight of his rumpled clothes. Asahina strokes him through it, working Ryuichiro through the waves of pleasure that seize control of his body and wring tension free of him, until when Asahina finally loosens his grip and lifts his head from the other’s shoulder Ryuichiro is lying sprawled to boneless exhaustion, so utterly spent he can hardly think for the tingling heat radiating through his body.

Asahina slides his hand free with care, easing his touch away as if intent to keep the mess over his fingers away from Ryuichiro’s clothes; not that it will make much difference, Ryuichiro thinks, under the circumstances. Asahina draws up onto his knees, sitting up as far as he can while he reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his hand clean; Ryuichiro watches him without moving to make any effort to imitate him. Asahina finishes cleaning his fingers and folds the handkerchief in on itself before replacing it in his pocket; that done, he tugs his jacket back into place and lifts his head to meet Ryuichiro’s gaze with the perfect professionalism of his usual façade. “Shall I put you back in order, Ryuichiro-sama?”

Ryuichiro shrugs against the seat beneath him. “Why bother?” he asks. “You’re just going to take me apart again as soon as we get home, right?”

Asahina inclines his head into a nod of assent. His lashes don’t flicker, his mouth doesn’t shift; Ryuichiro thinks the shiver that runs down his spine might be running the hotter in answer to the other’s composure. “Would you like to come up to the passenger seat?”

“No.” Ryuichiro lifts one arm to angle over the top of his head and lets his upraised knee rest heavy at the back of the seat. “Just drive me home, Asahina.”

“You are not wearing a seatbelt.”

“So drive carefully.”

Asahina sighs. “You are a nuisance when you are drunk, Ryuichiro-sama.”

“I know.” Ryuichiro tips his head to smile at Asahina. “You can punish me for it when we get home.”

Asahina gazes at him, his eyes dark and his mouth steady, before he tips his head into another nod. “Very well,” he says, and turns back to reach for the door. Ryuichiro watches him slide out of the car, moving quickly so he can shut the door the faster and circle the vehicle to claim the driver seat. In the dark of the closed car Ryuichiro tips his head back again, angling his head to cast his eyes under the shadow of his upraised arm, and he thinks of Asahina’s mouth against his own, of the friction of flushed skin pressing close against flushed skin, and the tangle of breathing catching as near together as their joined bodies.

It’s a short drive from the distance of the restaurant to Ryuichiro’s apartment, but by the time they arrive Ryuichiro thinks he is as ready to be claimed again as Asahina is to have him.


	2. Possess

Ryuichiro is unsteady on his feet.

Kaoru expected that. The other had barely been able to stand on his own even within the peace of the restaurant and even less now, with the heat Kaoru has worked into his veins in the cramped backseat of the car. Ryuichiro certainly made no attempt to sit up or compose himself during the drive back to his apartment; he just remained sprawled over the backseat of the car, one arm flung over his face and the other hanging slack over the edge of the seat rather than making any effort to pull his disheveled clothes back into a state of propriety. Even when they arrive Kaoru has to come around to the back to open the door and lean in over the seat just so he can pull Ryuichiro’s slacks back around his hips and fasten the buckle of the other’s belt; a process to which Ryuichiro submits with so little protest Kaoru wonders if he isn’t drifting into sleep, if he won’t be entirely unconscious by the time Kaoru can actually get him through the door of the apartment. But Ryuichiro manages a hold around Kaoru’s shoulders, if not any kind of balance over his stumbling feet as Kaoru leads him up the stairs to his own front door, and he almost stands on his own as Kaoru maneuvers a hand free so he can draw out his key to unlock Ryuichiro’s apartment. It’s reassuring proof of the other’s awareness, given Kaoru’s own keen desires for the remainder of the evening; and then the door comes open, and as Kaoru steps through the door Ryuichiro’s arms come up to wind around his neck and Ryuichiro leans in hard against the support of the other’s body. Kaoru stumbles back against the side of the entryway, carried there by the force of Ryuichiro suddenly collapsing against him, and Ryuichiro’s mouth finds its way to press to Kaoru’s even as the weight of the door swings shut to latch behind them.

They don’t make it out of the entryway. Ryuichiro is leaning too hard against Kaoru for the other to trust his footing in guiding them any farther into the apartment; and Kaoru’s patience is frayed beyond all keeping. He had been hot in the backseat, anxious and aching for the satisfaction he denied himself in hopes of a greater indulgence; to be on the far side of a shut door with Ryuichiro pressing near enough to leave no doubt as to his renewed desire is more than Kaoru would ever expect himself to resist. He reaches for Ryuichiro’s shoulders, dropping the keys in his hand to clatter to the floor unnoticed by either of them, and when he pushes to urge Ryuichiro back and down Ryuichiro goes, his boneless collapse softened into something of graceful submission by Kaoru’s unflinching grip against the line of his shoulders.

They land in the hallway, Ryuichiro’s back flat to the floor and Kaoru’s knee dropped down against the lower level of the entryway itself. The difference in position pins Kaoru’s hips to Ryuichiro’s, close enough that his weight alone is a force of friction, and Ryuichiro responds at once, groaning in the back of his throat as his hips buck up to grind against Kaoru over him. It’s reflexive, his body pursuing the satisfaction that Kaoru had promised him in the cramped space of the car, but the pressure against his aching arousal is almost more than Kaoru can bear. He has to drop a hand from Ryuichiro’s shoulder to grab at the other’s hip instead so he can push down and hold Ryuichiro in place.

Ryuichiro whines. “Asahina,” he protests, his usual pleading pulled into a whimper by the intoxication flushing his cheeks and dark in his eyes. “What are you _doing_?”

“Having you,” Kaoru says, and Ryuichiro’s lashes flutter as his lips part over a moan as much plea as his words were. “Please take your pants off, Ryuichiro-sama.”

Ryuichiro groans as Kaoru leans back and away. “Do it for me, Asahina.”

“I need to get the lube,” Kaoru says as he draws to his feet to stand over Ryuichiro sprawled at the floor. “I’ll be back.” He steps over Ryuichiro’s sprawling arm, careful to avoid stepping on the other as he moves away down the hallway towards the bedroom. Ryuichiro groans, frustration keen under the sound, but by the time Kaoru is turning the corner out of the hallway he’s reaching for the front of his pants, working to unfasten his belt as he arches his hips up, and that is compliance enough.

Kaoru takes very little time in retrieving what he needs. Ryuichiro is only just kicking his shoes free as he comes back around the corner, and as Kaoru returns to take up his original position Ryuichiro has his knees drawn up towards his chest as he fumbles clumsy efforts against the knot he’s managed to make of his pants. Kaoru sets the bottle down alongside Ryuichiro in the entryway, and reaches to grip at the waistband of Ryuichiro’s slacks; when he pulls the other’s clothes come free of his body easily. Ryuichiro gusts a breath of relief and drops his feet to the entryway, bracing his heels against the tile as he cants his knees into expectation. Kaoru drops Ryuichiro’s clothes, shoving them unceremoniously against the front door behind him to be forgotten as he reaches to claim the bottle at Ryuichiro’s hip so he can slick his fingers. Ryuichiro makes no move to sit up or to reach to help or hinder Kaoru’s motion, but Kaoru can hear his breathing coming with panting haste, and that is persuasion enough to speed his movement so he can drop the bottle aside and lean in over Ryuichiro spread open and waiting before him.

Ryuichiro reaches up for Kaoru as soon as the other leans in over him. His suit jacket is still on, although it’s unbuttoned and rumpled out of any attempt at formality, but he doesn’t try to wrestle himself free of it. He’s stretching up instead, extending both arms so his fingers wind into the soft short of Kaoru’s hair, and Kaoru lets him, ducking his head to watch the heat play across Ryuichiro’s face as he reaches slick fingers between the other’s open thighs. Ryuichiro tightens at the cool of his touch, clenching reflexive strain that could be as much anticipation as resistance, but Kaoru doesn’t even have to speak before the other is shuddering an exhale and softening to allow entrance to Kaoru’s fingers pushing up into him. Kaoru sets a hand at the hallway floor, over Ryuichiro’s shoulder so he can brace the other still at the same time he holds himself up, and when his arm flexes it is to slide his fingers up and into the heat of Ryuichiro’s body. Ryuichiro’s lashes dip, his lips part on a groan as his knees angle wider, and Kaoru watches him, drinking in the reaction flickering over Ryuichiro’s face as he fingers the other open in preparation for his own satisfaction.

Ryuichiro’s cheeks are flushed visibly dark by the time Kaoru is content with the slide of his fingers and the give of Ryuichiro opening easy around him. His eyes are still closed, his lashes shadowing the focus of his gaze, but Kaoru can see the tension of building anticipation in the set of Ryuichio’s teeth catching at his lip, can feel it in the fingers working for traction against the back of Kaoru’s neck. Ryuichiro shifts beneath him, arching with each forward stroke of Kaoru’s fingers and slumping to trembling surrender with each backwards slide; Kaoru thinks it’s only the pressure of his thrusting motion that is holding the other to anything like a fixed point against the demands of fast-rising arousal. Ryuichiro’s cock was hard when they came in the door, in total disregard to Kaoru’s treatment in the backseat of the car; it’s swollen dark now, dripping precome to soak into the bottom edge of Ryuichiro’s shirt or slide through the dark hair curling against the base of his cock. Ryuichiro is breathing as hard as Kaoru is, maybe harder, without the composure of sobriety to hold him to something like restraint, until finally it’s Ryuichiro who groans frustration and tips his head back against the floor beneath him.

“Come _on_ ,” he protests, his voice breaking over the strain of heat in his throat. “Didn’t you want to make me yours, Asahina?”

Kaoru hums assent without easing the motion of his fingers into the other. “That was my intent, Ryuichiro-sama.”

“Why don’t you do it, then?” Ryuichiro lifts his head and opens his eyes to meet the other’s gaze as his mouth sets into a scowl. The soft heat in him has flushed his lips darker too, and the friction of his teeth has dragged his lower lip to a heavy fullness enough to cast the expression towards a pout instead of a frown; Kaoru’s attention slides down to linger at the curve of Ryuichiro’s mouth, his focus clinging there even as Ryuichiro rasps a breath to speak again. “Hurry up and fuck me, Asahina.”

Kaoru’s mouth catches at the corner to threaten a laugh he catches back into no more than a flickering smile. “If you say so, Ryuichiro-sama.” Ryuichiro draws a breath, preparing to offer another variety of a command, but Kaoru is leaning in closer before he can speak to cover the other’s lips with the force of his own. Ryuichiro’s mouth goes soft immediately, tension melting to as much pliant heat as what his body is offering, and Kaoru parts his lips to lick in against Ryuichiro’s tongue and taste the heat of the other’s breathing as he eases his fingers free. Ryuichiro whimpers against his mouth, plaintive with want, but Kaoru stays where he is to stifle the sound in the other’s throat to incoherence as he lifts his hand from between Ryuichiro’s thighs to open the buckle of his own belt. The button slides free, his zipper pulls down to the work of his fingers, and Kaoru pushes at the weight of his clothes to ease them down enough to free the heat of his cock for the grip of his slick palm. He pulls over himself once, smoothing against the heat-friction of his own length with the assistance of the lube still clinging to his skin, and then he draws away from Ryuichiro’s mouth, pulling back so he can look down at the other’s face as he guides himself into place against the need of Ryuichiro’s body beneath him.

They slide together smoothly. It’s always a struggle for Kaoru to hold himself back, to dedicate the patience that it takes to make sure Ryuichiro is well-prepared; but it’s worth it, for the pleasure of rocking his hips forward and feeling his cock sink deep into the slick surrender of the other’s body beneath his. Ryuichiro arches against the floor, moaning without any concern for how loud his voice sounds echoing off the walls pressing close around them, but Kaoru is sparing no more attention for their surroundings than Ryuichiro. His knees are braced firm, his arm is fixed over Ryuichiro’s shoulder while his other hand grips at the angle of the other’s hip; and his body is moving, sliding back before thrusting forward in another motion of long, satisfying friction. Ryuichiro’s fingers tighten against Kaoru’s hair, his body tensing with shivering sensation under and around Kaoru’s, and Kaoru fixes him in place and takes, drawing himself into a long, savoring rhythm to claim the tight grip of Ryuichiro’s body around him for his own.

“Asahina,” Ryuichiro moans, slurring over the other’s name as his fingers strive for a grip at Kaoru’s hair. “Oh _fuck_ , that feels good.” One foot comes up to angle over Kaoru’s back in a clumsy attempt to draw the other closer, as if Kaoru needs any kind of encouragement to go on fucking Ryuichiro down against the floor in front of him. He’s been craving this since they left the restaurant, since that first moment of seeing Ryuichiro leaning in to turn the smoke of his bedroom-heavy gaze on someone else; the interlude in the car was no more than a stopgap, a means to bleed off the worst of his temper so he could drive them more-or-less safely over the distance home. This is what he needed, what he ached for, what he would have liked to take right there on the floor of the restaurant: Ryuichiro spilling his name to desire, arching under him with a singleminded heat that has no space for anyone or anything beyond the immediate reality of Kaoru over and inside him. Kaoru can see the haze in Ryuichiro’s eyes, the intoxicated pleasure rising to knock his vision blurry and tremble helpless tension through his body, and when Ryuichiro’s lashes flutter Kaoru reaches up to grab at his chin and turn the other’s head to face him, to hold him with the same force he offered in his tipsy flirtation at the restaurant.

“Me,” Kaoru says. The word feels rough in his throat even as it comes past his lips; his fingers are slippery at Ryuichiro’s skin, they slide until he turns his hand to brace his palm against Ryuichiro’s jaw and fix the other in place. “You’re with me, Ryuichiro-sama.” His voice is a command, however polite the title he affords the other. “I’m the one taking you home.” His thighs flex, his cock strokes. “And the one taking you now. Tell me.”

“Asahina,” Ryuichiro groans, but it’s not a protest as much as a spill of heat too much for him to hold back. “It’s you.” His hands press to Kaoru’s hair, sliding back to make a caress out of a desperate hold. “It’s always you.” His lashes dip, struggling for traction before he gasps and opens his eyes wide as if fixing himself in place. “I love you, Asahina.”

Kaoru breathes out into the relief of a sigh. “Yes,” he says. “Good.” He lets Ryuichiro’s jaw go to free his hand to reach down between them; Ryuichiro hisses a breath past his teeth as Kaoru’s fingers touch him, but the jerk of his cock speaks to the pleasure of the contact, and Kaoru doesn’t hesitate in curling his fingers in and around the length of the other’s shaft so he can stroke up and over him.

Ryuichiro arches against the floor, his back curving to an arc of straining want as he groans again. “ _Oh_ ,” he blurts. “Fuck, _Asahina_.”

“Yes,” Kaoru rasps, and leans in to weight his forehead to Ryuichiro’s shoulder as he moves harder, thrusting forward into a rough rhythm as his grip tightens to pull up over Ryuichiro’s heat-heavy cock in his hold. He can feel the tremor in Ryuichiro’s body without seeing it, can feel the spasm of sensation clench hard around him as he moves, until the gasp in Ryuichiro’s throat is confirmation of a known truth more than an admission.

“Asahina,” Ryuichiro groans. “I’m going to--” His heel weights hard at Kaoru’s back, his thigh tips to brace at Kaoru’s hip as his words break to strain.

“Yes,” Kaoru says again, speaking from some part of the rhythm rising in him as the pace of his heartbeat and the work of his hips fall into perfect alignment with each other. “Please come, Ryuichiro-sama.” And he twists his wrist, adding persuasion to plea, and Ryuichiro tightens under him as if the desire in him is answering the summons of no more than Kaoru’s touch. His arms strain, his knee at Kaoru’s hip presses with painful force for a moment; and then he sags into release, gasping through the jolts of orgasm as his cock jerks in Kaoru’s hold.

“Fuck,” he manages, some of the tension in his voice giving way to the greater space of relief. “Asahina.”

“Ryuichiro-sama,” Kaoru says, and lets his hold on Ryuichiro’s cock go to brace at the other’s hip once more. “I love you.” And he’s moving with greater force, bringing the full force of his attention to bear on his claiming. Ryuichiro hisses a breath, his hands fix to fists at Kaoru’s hair, but Kaoru keeps moving into Ryuichiro’s body pinned to stillness beneath him. Ryuichiro is still panting with his own release, trembling through aftershocks and the too-much sensation of Kaoru having him, but Kaoru’s own desire is rising in a wave, building in the back of his head and surging higher along his spine with each thrust he takes. Ryuichiro is his, giving way to the demands of Kaoru’s body and desire and need; and Kaoru gasps a breath against Ryuichiro’s shoulder, and shudders through the force of the orgasm that breaks over him. Ryuichiro groans again, sounding as satisfied as if it is his own pleasure surging through all the tension of Kaoru’s trembling body, and Kaoru slides an arm under Ryuichiro’s waist to pull him in close as the strain of arousal gives way to the languid glow of satisfaction.

They are both a mess, Kaoru knows. In a few minutes he’ll have to stir himself to draw away and begin the struggle that it will surely be to strip Ryuichiro out of his rumpled clothes so he can be deposited into a bath, and then later dragged from that same so Kaoru can put him to bed. But even the thought of the effort needed is comforting in the moment, softened to domestic affection by the afterglow of pleasure in Kaoru’s veins, and right now he doesn’t have to do anything more than hold Ryuichiro against him and listen to the sound of the other’s breathing easing as his own arms brace close around Kaoru’s shoulders.

In the end, Kaoru is just as much possessed as he is possessive, and he won’t let anyone take that away from him.


End file.
